


Write Me A Letter

by drxpdead



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drxpdead/pseuds/drxpdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has fallen in love with the boy downstairs, who he can hear playing the piano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Write Me A Letter

Phil had fallen in love with the boy who played the piano. 

The only reason he even knew it was a boy was because he'd maybe sort of stalked his apartment door to see what he looked like. And he hadn't been disappointed, the guy was beautiful. All brown hair and tan skin, but Phil had been too much of a wimp to actually talk to him. 

He didn't know when it had developed from mild interest to actual love, and he knew that it might seem kind of weird and irrational to think that, but it was the only other explanation. He wanted to get to know this guy, wanted to see what his musically talented hands looked like and know what kinds of things inspired the sweetly haunting music that flowed from his flat. He wanted to know his name. 

He was just nervous. There was no way a guy like that would take any interest in someone like Phil, who was boring and did nothing but read in his spare time.

And he didn't have any sort of experience with this, talking to people he was interested in. It was why he didn't have any close friends, and why he'd chosen to work at some obscure music store down the street. He just didn't click with people.

But this was different, he knew. He had this urge to talk to the guy, every time he walked past and heard him playing. He wanted to knock on his door and just say hi. But he couldn't, because he was pathetic and he'd never have a chance. He couldn't keep creeping on him like this, stopping by his door all the time and placing his ear against the wood to hear his music. Someone would call him out, and then he wouldn't have that anymore. 

So he'd written a letter. A note, really, it wasn't that long. And he taped it to his door and then left, trying not to think about how lame this was. 

I live above you, and I wanted to say that I really like your music. It's beautiful. I'm not trying to be creepy or anything.  
-your neighbor

It was a start, at least. If the guy did see it he'd either acknowledge it in some way or just ignore it. And Phil could move on. 

It was like a weight hanging heavily in the back of his mind all day. He was glad pretty much no one came into the music store, cause he definitely wouldn't be too customer friendly today. He kept going over in his head the possible scenarios that would come of this. 

What if the guy didn't even see the note? Maybe he was too busy with his own life and wouldn't even see that Phil had managed to communicate with him. Or maybe he'd just not care. Or call the police or something. It was possible. 

But when Phil did get back to his building there wasn't a horde of police waiting for him to sign some restraining order. He walked down the hall, his heart beating in his chest and when he got to the guys door- 

-there was a different piece of paper. 

This was more yellow and old and Phil stared at in what might look like horror.

He replied. Phil didn't care if it was maybe just to tell him to fuck off, he'd actually found Phil's note and replied. 

Phil snatched the folded piece of paper off of the door and walked up to his own flat, shutting the door and hanging up his coat before settling on the couch and staring at the paper. Did he really want to open it and see what was inside? He might not like it. But he also didn't care. 

He unfolded it and read the words that were written there, noticing that the guy had really neat handwriting, and that there was actually quite a few scratched out lines. 

I wasn't aware that I had an audience. I don't think anyone's called my music beautiful. Thanks.   
-Dan (if you didn't know)

Phil was smiling and biting his lip, rereading the words again. It was only three sentences, that barely had any meaning behind them, but Phil still cherished them. Because at least he hadn't been rejected. And now he knew his name. 

~ ~ ~

For the next two weeks, Dan and Phil learned more about each other through these small notes. Phil would tape one to his door everyday before work, and sometimes even if he didn't have to leave his place at all, and Dan would always reply. 

And Phil would always compliment Dan's music, giving him small reviews that Dan always thanked him for. 

It was their little routine. 

Phil was just getting back from work, and he smiled when he saw Dan's note taped to the door. He always waited until he was alone to read the notes, he didn't know why.

Don't you think it's a bit weird that I know all this random stuff about you but I don't know how you look? Who you are at all, really?

Phil stared at the words, processing exactly what they were saying. 

He'd never given it much thought before, honestly. The fact that Dan did know things about him, his favorite color and what he liked and hated, but he didn't know him. He didn't know what he wanted to be as a person, all the things he admired and loved, didn't know what he was afraid of. And Phil didn't know Dan either. They were still practical strangers, just pretending as friends. 

And that was kind of painful. Here Phil has thought they were getting close, he'd finally made an effort, but it wasn't that far. 

So he got up. Paced his flat for almost an hour, thinking. And he opened the door and walked down the stairs. And knocked on Dan's door. 

He was in sweat pants, for fucks sake, and he'd taken out his itchy contacts in favor of his glasses. And he hadn't planned out anything, what he was going to say or do. This was a mistake, he shouldn't have done this.

But he heard footsteps, and then the door was being unlocked and there was Dan. Also in sweat pants, but he also didn't have a shirt on. Damn, he's gorgeous. 

"Hi." Phil breathe out, cursing at his shaky voice. 

"Hello." Dan said, smiling at him, and that's what his voice sounded like? It was warm and soft, the kind of voice you wanted to hear reassuring you and making sure you were okay. Phil was not okay. 

"Now you know." Phil said, biting his lip as Dan stared at him in confusion. 

"Now I know, what?"

"What I look like."

Dan started grinning widely, his eyes sparkling, and Phil's heart was racing in his chest. Was he good enough? 

"I take it you're the mystery note writer, then?" Dan asked. Phil nodded. "Well, you're a whole lot better than I expected."

"I-thanks." Phil said, feeling a weight lift off of him at those words. 

It was silent between them for a moment, with Dan quietly looking him over, and Phil fidgeting under his scrutiny. 

"You want to come inside for a bit?" Dan asked eventually, and Phil froze. Come in? He didn't think they'd get very far in this conversation, and here was Dan, inviting him in. Well, he wasn't going to decline. 

"Definitely." And as Dan stepped aside to let him in, Phil found that he couldn't stop smiling. 

He really was in love with the boy who played the piano.


End file.
